Chapter 6 - Hannah #2
"Then they'll call. And we'll be there in ten minutes. But nothing's going to happen. It's just the park."
Just the park. Normal things that normal families do. Taking babies to the park, and letting other people help.
I text back with shaking fingers: *That's okay. Thank you. Please call if he gets fussy or needs anything.*
The reply comes immediately: *Will do! We'll send pictures. Take your time.*
Relief floods through me, mixed with anxiety. He's okay. He's safe. He's being cared for by people who actually care. And I have time. Time to breathe. Time to settle in. Time to figure out what I'm doing here.
"I said yes.” I tell Wesley.
"Good. That gives us time to set up your room properly. Make it feel like yours instead of just another guest room."
"Our room," I correct without thinking. Then freeze. "I mean, the room. Just the room. Not—"
Wesley's lips quirk slightly. Almost a smile. "I know what you meant."
My face is burning. "I should stop talking."
"Come on." He tugs my hand. "Let's head back."
We walk back to the motorcycle together. This time when I climb on behind him, I don't hesitate. Just wrap my arms around his waist and hold on tight.
Trust him to get me where I need to go.
Trust that maybe, possibly, this time someone will stay.
The engine roars to life and we head down the hill, back toward the clubhouse. Back toward whatever comes next.
The ride takes fifteen minutes. I spend every second of it pressed against Wesley's back, breathing in the smell of leather, motor oil and coffee from breakfast. Memorizing the way his body feels against mine. The way my arms fit perfectly around his waist.
The way this feels like coming home to something I've never had.
The gates of the Iron Phoenix clubhouse appear ahead. Wesley slows, entering the code that makes them swing open. We pull into the lot, and I see all the motorcycles lined up in their neat rows.
Home.
At least for today.
Wesley parks and I climb off. My legs are steadier this time. Getting used to the bike. Getting used to all of this.
"Thank you," I say. "For breakfast. For showing me the overlook. For—" I gesture helplessly at everything.
"You don't have to thank me for taking care of my family."
My family. He keeps saying that. Like it's already true. Like it's always been true.
We head inside. The clubhouse is quieter now with Nora, Ivy, and the kids gone.
Canvas sits on the couch with his leg propped up, Eden fussing over his bandage.
Rosie and Brick are in the kitchen, his arms around her waist while she makes coffee.
Phoenix is nowhere to be seen, probably in his office.
Judge appears from the hallway. "Echo. Hannah. Nora took the kids to the park. Said she'd be gone a couple hours." He looks at me. "You okay with that?"
"Yeah," I say, and mean it. "She texted. I told her it was fine."
He nods approvingly. "Good. Trusting people is hard. Especially for people like us. But you're doing it anyway."
People like us. People who are broken. People who aged out with nothing. People who learned early that trust was dangerous.
"Trying to," I say.
"That's enough." He gestures toward the stairs. "Your room's ready. Or as ready as we could make it. Crib gets delivered around two. Figured you and Echo could arrange everything else how you want it."
"Thank you."
Wesley leads me upstairs. Opens a door near the end of the hall and steps aside to let me enter first.
Queen bed with fresh gray sheets, dresser, desk, two windows overlooking the back courtyard. And in the corner, a pack-and-play already set up with soft blankets inside.
But what makes me stop and stare are all the shopping bags covering every available surface. Baby supplies. Diapers, wipes, bottles, clothes in various sizes, toys, blankets, a mobile with little stars hanging from it.
"Canvas and Eden went shopping," Wesley says from behind me. "Got everything they could think of. If something's missing, just let them know."
I walk slowly into the room, taking it all in. Someone organized everything by type. Diapers stacked neatly on the dresser. Clothes sorted by size in one bag. Toys in another. Bottles and feeding supplies in a third.
More than I could have afforded in six months.
Given freely because "you're family now."
My eyes start burning. "This is too much."
"It's exactly enough." Wesley closes the door behind us. "You needed help. We're giving it. That's what family does."
I pick up a soft blue blanket from one of the bags. Run my fingers over the fabric. "I've never had this before. People who just... help. Without expecting something in return."
"You have it now."
I set the blanket down and turn to face him. He's leaning against the door, arms crossed, watching me with those beautiful gray eyes.
"What do you want from me?" I ask. The question that's been building since I arrived. "Really. What do you expect in return for all this?"
"Nothing you're not ready to give."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer I have." He pushes off the door and walks closer. Not crowding me. Just close enough to talk without raising his voice. "I'm not keeping score, Hannah. I'm not adding up what I've given so I can demand payment later. That's not how this works."
"Then how does it work?"
"You stay. You let me help with Theo. Same thing that I’ve been telling you since you arrived. You heal from whatever's been breaking you for the past months. And when you're ready, if you're ready, we figure out what we are to each other."
"And if I'm never ready?"
"Then you're still Theo's mother and this is still your home for as long as you need it."
God. How does he do that? Say exactly what I need to hear without even trying?
"I want to kiss you," I blurt out. Then immediately wish I could take it back.
Wesley goes very still. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. But I don't know if I should. I don't know if that's moving too fast or if it's a terrible idea or if I'm just feeling grateful and confusing that with something else."
"What do you think it is?"
I think about it. Really think about it. What I feel when I look at him. What I felt this morning when he held Theo for the first time. What I felt on the overlook when he talked about building a future together.
"I think it's the same thing I felt before," I say honestly. "When we were seeing each other. Before I ran. That feeling of being less alone. Of finally finding someone who understands."
"That's not gratitude."
"No. It's not."
"Then if you want to kiss me, kiss me."
This is it. The moment where I either step forward or step back. Where I choose to try or choose to protect myself.